


Ashes of the World

by sugareign



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, only one beta so we kind of die like glenn, other characters not mentioned in tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23101375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugareign/pseuds/sugareign
Summary: After the events of Silver Snow, the five year war in Fodlan comes to an end. With Byleth as the new ruler, things seem to be on the mend...but after learning the dark truth of her existence, Byleth feels the weight of her new role become crushing.Nemesis and his elites started the path, now Byleth and her saviors must finish it.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth, and others but i'm just not sure who yet, will be added later - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Ashes of the World

_I had that dream again. The one about the war; the massive armies clashing on a vast field. And how strange that it doesn’t seem to include me. The things I’ve seen, the things I’ve been through… the war_ **_I’ve_ ** _seen. It’s a stale moment that I realize I’ve woken up and my lips are dry, but I’m still standing on that battlefield. I can’t move, and suddenly as soon as I am there, I am gone. I realize, my dreams aren’t even about me. It was never about me, was it? It was never intended to be about me. That battle replays in my head. I can’t ever have my own memories, my own dreams. There was already a path for me long before I knew it. Though every step I took was of my own volition, someone was leaving me breadcrumbs. My steps have been walked once before . . ._

_Rhea._

**_I must wake up._**

  
  


She doesn’t belong there, and she feels it the moment she wakes. Dry lips, breath short as she quickly sits up from the silken sheets. For a moment, they burn her skin. The room around her a prison cell, trying not to think about the walls closing in around her as she blinks herself further awake. The space in the bed beside her is empty, but the room is full around her. Both of their outfits laid out for them amongst the abundance of jewels and her headdress for the occasion. Byleth had made a joke the night prior about how the thing would make a far better dinner platter than an accessory. Perhaps it still could be, she thinks, pulling herself up from the bedsheets. 

The light comes in through the windows in bright patterns, as if lighting the way to her carefully stitched ensemble laid so neatly atop her dresser; a moment she stares, but quickly turns away from it. The day is still so young, there’s plenty of time before she has to play the role she was forced into. The door opens easily as she pulls the handle, stepping out into the corridor and tossing her chin in the direction of the balcony. She knew he would be there so early... the weight of the world must be on his shoulders, too. Dawn is the best time to think, after all.

Byleth is far used to approaching undetected, but Felix has always had a keen sense when it came to her. Before she even hits the small steps his head is turned in her direction, but not leaving the perch of his palm that his elbow props up for him. Raven hair gathering just below his shoulders, tied in a very knotted ribbon from the night’s sleep: a clear sign he had been just as restless as she. But she smiles, and he attempts to. Byleth has just become a bad liar.

“You didn’t wake me up,” she complains at him, coming up to stand beside him and look down over the half wall. On top of the world, above everyone -- both literally and figuratively, seeing how today she takes quite the role to complete the analogy. How can it be so peaceful and yet feel like the world below her is crumbling?

“Figured ‘ _Her Grace_ ’ could use the extra sleep,” Felix retorts, “Big day for the snoring bear in the bedroom.” With that comment alone, her fist comes across to smack him on the arm. Her anger isn’t present in her strike, but he’ll still take it as a fine warning to not push it. He knows better than to think this day was anything exciting for her. She had been preparing for weeks, but never happily. Had it been absolutely completely her choice, as Rhea had made it seem to be, Byleth would have never taken the position of archbishop. She would never consider herself religious, not in the least. To press on, she barely knew how to be a professor and take students her own age under her tutelage. How was she meant to hold an entire country under her thumb, with no delegates, nor borders, after a five year war? No one would have the answer for her, and that alone was frightening enough to make Byleth restless. 

But she wasn’t completely alone, no, not entirely. Despite his own desires to dip under the radar and run off like her, Felix has stayed beside her. Though he doesn’t pride himself on being so much of a leader either, at least he’s there. It’s more than she could say for Rhea, who all but avoided her questions and grievances alike until the end. And only then, telling her the entire truth of her vision. 

The Goddess never came for her. Though sought to be a perfect vessel, even as the daughter of someone Rhea held so dearly, Byleth never was. She was a failure in that regard, and many others as it had come down to the decisions made on the warpath. Rhea, though, was selfish. Beyond that, she was manipulative, and saw to it that every small ritual be put into place for The Goddess to return to the world… but it never happened. No one was coming back, it had been all for naught. A sacrifice that Rhea wishes she could take back, had she known it would fail. A hope that giving life, would bring another back. A true cruelty to the dead and the living, and surely to the one used as a tool for someone else’s selfish gains. And despite it all, she was still propped up into the position of archbishop, like Byleth’s own feelings were disregarded without even a thought. 

If nothing else, Felix would listen. He always had before. The two of them weren’t so different, and something within that mutual, detached way of carrying themselves was comforting in the other. They could trust one another without ever asking if they could. They _knew_ they could. Had someone told her that in her future she would marry him, she would have never believed them. More unbelievable would be the extravagance they were expected to be wed in. The societal pressures of one so high as she would not be dismantled so easily, it seemed. Not even with the abrupt announcement of their engagement and their plans to wed right away. Nothing would stop the church and it’s grandiose treatment of Her Highest Grace. 

Not even the day they stood in, silent now in the soft wind that pushes both of their hair back. Not her protests, not her pleas, and not even her threats. And truthfully, Seteth had tried to be sympathetic, as did Flayn… yet, besides them, who else was going to take over? Seteth nor Flayn were ‘fit’ to be put in such a position, but somehow they insisted that Byleth was. She was the closest to The Goddess after all -- she bore her heart. It just seemed so convenient… so easy to throw her into something they didn’t want to save themselves. Alas, she could feel for them, too. A father and daughter separated and distant for so long… the generous and self-guilting side of her doesn’t disagree that they deserve the most undisruptive time together with one another now. To ask either of them to step into this position seemed more selfish than anything. And in technicality… Seteth’s job has been taken over, had it not?

“And as my most trusted, loyal, _responsible_ advisor, would it not be in your list of responsibilities to make sure ‘your grace’ doesn’t sleep her entire day away?” In lieu of a fist to her arm, she just gets the heaviest rolling of the eyes from him.

“Shut up,” he quips, silently groaning at the mere mention of his position. Felix isn’t an advisor. He’s not a leader, and yet with his impatient marriage to his wife, the position has been more or less dropped onto his shoulders with Rhea announcing her resignation, ultimately pulling Seteth out of his position, also. Neither of them are where they want to be, but what choice did they have? Once Rhea made a decision, it was nearly impossible for them to leave… where else would they go?

Fodlan was nearly a wasteland, with three former countries all looking for a semblance of guidance. The Empire’s loss of Edelgard, the Kingdom’s with Dimitri, and Claude’s disappearance hasn’t sat well with anyone. There are people still dying. Buildings are still in disrepair. Territories and towns are being pillaged under nobles noses as they scramble to try and find their footing. They needed someone, and Rhea found Byleth to be the only one capable. Or rather, the only person she wanted taking her place. She was supposed to be the goddess herself, right? What better person alive was there when Rhea presses that she is far too weak to continue her own rule? Maybe even realizing that she doesn’t want to deal with what’s been done.

Regardless of anything, Byleth was not to be let out of sight of the guards. Even if the late night conversations she and Felix had of running away from there and traveling the borders and beaches of the continent and surrounding countries were acted upon, they were sure to be brought right back here. By force, if they must. Controlling, always under someone’s watch, unable to live for herself due to a plan out of her control… Byleth’s chest tightened once more, and Felix’s hand slides across the balcony to nudge her elbow.

“It’ll be fine,” he reassures her. She’s only been playing hide and seek with her feelings about this for weeks now. Felix was never the most perceptive person with her, but he’d learned to be. She’s taught him to be, and he’d studied every small movement of her face, the quirks of her lips and the draw of her eyebrows. He knew her better than anyone -- anyone alive, that is.

“Will it?” Byleth is far too prideful to let her newfound and still fragile emotions take over too much, but what is one to do when the blatant fears and mixed feelings of anger and sadness are often at war within the empty cavity of her heart?

“ I promise.” Felix hasn’t broken a promise yet, and he doesn’t intend to. Not to her, certainly of all people. Bold of him to give promise over something wildly out of his control, but she knows that he means to stay within the limits of himself as a person. Anything he can do to make it ‘fine’, he would absolutely do for her. He did, truly, have a soft heart under all of his thick skin.

Footsteps cautiously come up behind them, making the two turn their heads away from the courtyard grounds to the entryway of the balcony. It’s one of the guards, though he has his shoulders tensed up in such a way that makes Felix sigh loudly enough that it makes the poor man’s head snap upward and to attention, “Your graces… I - I was sent to remind you of the time…”

The time, the time, _the time_...there’s never enough of it, it seems, and any final hours of Byleth’s loose “freedom” were almost over. Her teeth gnaw at the inside of her lower lip, and her eyes cast downward in her uncertainty. Perhaps she should have had one more ale the night before. One more plate of overly greasy food, one more sloppy kiss to her equally drunk husband’s lips… one more hour of a night to herself before everything changed. 

And now it was too late.

“Great. We’ll be there on time.” Felix answers for her, giving the guard a very aware feeling that he’s free to go, and it better be now. He seems to get the hint enough, turning militantly on his heel and all but scampering off down the corridor once more. With another sigh, Felix turns himself completely around to push off the stone wall with a step forward. He knows that without him going first, she won’t have the will to. She’s the one that has one last choice to make, “We can run away right now. Jump over the balcony and catch a boat somewhere.” He’s only half joking, looking at her with a cast of seriousness lit in the fires of his eyes.

As much as she wants to accept his offer, she shakes her head. The only thing worse than forfeiting her life to something she doesn’t want is to be labelled a coward and be hunted down. But only a little. Just worse enough to keep her from taking his lead and jumping over that balcony and not leaving a trace. Despite possibly not even being able to get through the front gates without being apprehended, she almost takes the offer.

“No,” she breathes, trying once more to convince him with a smile, “You promised it would be fine. I trust you.” Anyone would be swollen with a sense of relief to have someone trust them, but Felix, arrogantly enough, is used to people trusting him. Yet with his wife, having her trust was special. Trusting him with the future was something not everyone could rely on. 

He takes another step, beckoning her along with him. 

And once again she’s met with that platter of a headdress that she’d rather toss out the window. While she’d insisted she didn’t need help getting dressed, there were already nuns and seamstresses waiting for the both of them within their bedroom. Both of them sigh with a slight growl in their tones. Never again a moment of privacy, it seemed. Felix doesn’t kiss her before he’s ushered off with a different group of the party, but does offer her a mumbled, “Good luck”, to which Byleth can’t help but smirk, and give a nod of reference. _You, too_.

She would need all the luck he could get. She’d never been one for dresses, and that’s what they’ve given her, she now discovers as they take time to unfold everything and lay it out onto the freshly made bed. Rhea certainly wasn’t going to not have a say in what she wore here. Byleth’s usual, comfortable blacks were not going to be what history remembered. Rich whites, golds… the calm navy blue that lines her shoulder shawl and her cape that would surely drag the floor behind her. That’s what the seamstresses are for, she reckons. There would be nothing left that Rhea would deem imperfect -- that would include Byleth as a whole.

And with how tightly the nuns were trying to make her corset, Byleth was sure to look just as porcelain and perfect as a goddess reincarnate should be. Gasping once more as they pull harder, she has to urge them to stop -- they’re suffocating her, she swears by it! If they pulled on the laces any tighter they would rearrange her completely. She was small enough, did she really have to be seamless?

Certainly, to be able to fit into the dress they already have ready for her to step into. Hugging onto her hips and her waist snugly, as without a corset on she may not have been able to fit in it at all. Miraculously, though, they’ve accounted for the sizeable barrier of her chest, and as Byleth braces herself for her breasts to be flattened, readjusted, sitting too high -- the buttons do not pull too tightly when they are done up the back, but she still cannot breathe. From that, she’s not sure if it’s the corset or the weight of what’s to come. Of it all, she still isn’t certain. Nor is she certain of how she’s supposed to be expected to walk in something that hugs her thighs so closely together. She must have been looking down and focusing too hard, as it’s the only reason why Byleth could think that a nun forces her chin up a little too harshly to drag a powder brush across her cheeks.

She doesn’t breathe, catching herself tugging at the sides of her dress and tracing the tight seams; hoping to not tear one but also not completely stopping herself. She keeps her chin up, however, as they attach her shawl and collar, which falls to the median of her biceps; clasping just underneath her chin, resting just at the flat of her chest to dangle over the cut over her cleavage. The golden coins off of her shoulders clanging together with every small movement she makes, the whole outfit slowly, and yet far too quickly becoming heavier and heavier. She resists the urge to bat the oversized collar away from her face, and they seem to finish clasping her in with the cape, letting it fall behind her as the seamstresses make busy work on matching it with her heels they have yet to force her into. Not before adding her accessories, nestled into her bangs, and she visibly winces at just how tightly it pulls on her hair and clings to her forehead. If this was already making her head spin, she couldn’t imagine having the full headdress on…

“No headdress,” Byleth states, firmly at that. It makes the nun in front of her stop, tilting her head in question at the request.

“But, Your Grace…”

“ _Please_.” She could take it up with Rhea later, just ----

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. Lady Rhea’s request…”

_And yet she still reigns over me._

Byleth must look defeated as the heavy golden plate is hoisted up and behind her, seeming to cradle on the curve of her neck and snap gently in place underneath the line of her collar. She must look ridiculous, and she’s not even looked into the mirror yet.

Finally, they motion her to her heels: far too high, and surely would give her enough trouble walking in, let alone standing in for the entire ceremony. Five inches from where she currently stands, she must be the ever highest in the room. Standing before her people in total image of power. She must look the part.

When the nuns are scurrying away to clear the mess, Byleth’s head can only turn to the looking glass for a peek. Against her better judgement, and her absolute fear of seeing herself in her own nightmare, she must look. It’s not just a fearful dream anymore, it’s not something to be put off for another day… it’s real, and she is living it. And she hates it.

Rhea’s little doll. The color of her hair stark against the whites and golds, looking sickeningly familiar and making her dizzy. If she did not know for sure that it was her standing in front of the mirror, she would have mistook herself for Rhea. For someone handing off the position of the archbishop, she remains in total control of Byleth’s choices. She didn’t have a choice any longer, not even as she nears taking the throne of her unfortunate birthright. One she wishes, if only for a moment, had not been given to her.

Only for a moment.

“You look so damn ugly,” and that is the only reason why she finds it fortunate. Felix’s voice pulls her sinking self from the reflection of demise, and even in the pull of the tide in her looming ‘imprisonment’, she laughs. 

If she thought she had it terrible, she did not for a moment think Felix could have the same degree of everything unsavory in an outfit. On first glance, she’s reminded of Seteth. The navy blues of the classic wardrobe he donned was definitely a staple. Having flowing fabrics draping over him was never going to be a look he settled for -- but of course, this is not Felix’s celebration. He was not meant to steal the show, and yet… The stark white in his boots trace along his legs tightly past his knees, where his trousers flare and bend with the jodhpur style upward to the waist: a single golden stripe down the outside of his legs that dip below the gold trim of his boot. Ornate buttons at the top of them, almost too fancy for it to be on any clothing he _should_ wear. Long sleeved tunic tucked into the waist of his pants, decorated with an overly articulate belt that she wasn’t even sure how she would begin undoing if she was given the option -- or the immediate want. A deterrent, she’s sure, from any funny business. The total blue look is unflattering, despite the golden patterns circling around the chest and over his shoulders, continuing down the arms in the copied single stripe where it rests at the cuff of his shirt. They’ve even given him gloves, something she’s absolutely reeling over knowing how much he hates them otherwise.

His cape meets the floor, barely trailing the ground where he walks and still drowning him in blue, though stark white does give him a refreshing background if he would just stand still. Byleth is certain his own centerpiece on his forehead is not meant to be so crooked, but she won’t correct it. Not yet. She somehow thinks he’s made it askew to get a rise from the nuns… and she’s almost proud. Felix was never a man to make things easy for anyone, and he wouldn’t start with letting a gaggle of middle aged women dress him like this. And tying his hair so terribly with a too - big ribbon. She would be certain her first order would be to fire whatever designer Rhea put up to this.

But she laughs. It’s far too difficult to look at him and not feel the glee of humiliation wafting off of him. If this is the only moment of the day where her anxieties are alleviated, then he wouldn’t stop her. Any small amount of joy that she has is a hopeful turn in the day, one that she needs to merely get through it.

“Enjoy it while it lasts. Once this is over, I’m burning it,” he grumbles, pulling at his sleeves to get the seams and curves out of the bends of his arms. It would have fit better if he had smaller arms, and yet, it’s something that the seamstress didn’t take into account. But there’s no time to correct it now, it’s not his show.

“Are you even allowed to burn gifts from the church?” she snickers, coming over to unbutton the very first button on his collar, letting him relax and bring his chin down from its perch.

“I wouldn’t know, the church doesn’t give me gifts. Will you let me burn it?”

“On one condition.”

“What’s your condition?”

“If we can burn mine, too.” As if she had to ask. He was already assuming that if his was to be burnt, hers would only make the fire burn brighter. What use was there in only burning one of the outfits anyway? 

In turn now, though, he can stifle a snicker of his own at her getup now that he’s close enough. The sizeable focus on her head makes his eyes unable to pull away, and she already knows what he’s about to say.

“They told me I couldn’t _not_ wear it,” she explains, though she seems less than happy to have to relive the realization of not having the choice.

“Fuck them. Turn around, we’re taking it off.” On cue, she turns. Too eager, and relieved to have one person on her side, if nothing else. With gloves on his hands it does turn into a rather difficult task to pry it off of the decorative chains and the snaps, but he does manage to lift it from her shoulders. Her immediate response is rolling them backwards, having the freeing sensation of a lifted weight. Only a small one of many, but it was a start, “There. You look less stupid.”

The way he spoke to her, while others would view it as cruel and distasteful, Byleth viewed it completely opposite. His opinion was the only one she valued. She doesn’t hear his words as a means to cut her down, nor make her feel equal to dirt. His words are honest, and she knows that his honesty is said with love, and with her comfort in mind. She was only ‘ugly’ because she hated the get up, and he knew it. It was only solidifying her own thoughts and validating the fact that it didn’t suit her at all. And she only looked stupid because she looked the best when she was not so dolled up. When she was herself, and not someone’s dress up doll. She looked best in black -- her favorite color, and the whites and golds that she’s been shoved into are unflattering and unbecoming of someone he’s come to love so much. Felix knows his wife well, and his degrading comments are not so much aimed at her, but more for the situation around her. She understands, as though it’s the only thing she could. All of the others’ complaints of him being so unreadable… they just never bothered to learn.

Felix clears his throat, garnering her attention for the briefest moment, yet not letting his gaze leave the doorway. Another guard… another schedule. Another place to be. This is what life was going to be like now, wasn’t it?

“I promise,” he repeats to her. One last time, with no added context -- something she would understand, but no one else would. And in that alone, it’s comforting. 

Everything might just be fine. For a moment, for the walk to the cathedral with him by her side. Steadying her sloppy walk in her uncomfortable heels, guiding her along as she glances around at the newly hung decorations in the corridors; around the pillars and opening the doorways. It was a celebration, sure, but to go so far as to make the monastery such a sight is beyond what Byleth would have wanted. Until she remembers, it isn’t about what she wants. Rhea was still getting what she wanted, though.

The strings on instruments pull quickly once the cathedral doors pull open -- and it’s a flashback to their thrown - together wedding not many weeks back. Only he is by her side this time, and she is looking far more decorated than her own wedding had allowed her to be. More viewed, more of a spectacle. It is ‘ _the most important_ ’ day of her life now. Byleth’s grip on Felix’s arm tightens as her fingernails dig into the navy of his tunic. All heads turn and look to her expectantly. Some gasping, some murmuring, and others only smiling as she stumbles past them. She couldn’t begin to piece together what they might be saying, and the thought alone terrifies her. The possibility now of looking right at her next assassin, or the next person she may have to decide whether to keep alive or send them to hang by their necks. The next person she may see in a casket. The next person who would become ill…

She feels ill all in an instant, but her steps press forward. Her knees are shaking, making it that much harder to put one foot in front of the other. Looking ahead, instead, her stomach churns at the sight of her. 

Rhea. Her untelling smile is not faltering even now. Is it pride that she wears on her face, or is it the sting of solace knowing that she was no longer to be the subject of the continent’s wrath? Byleth can’t tell, and she fears that she may not ever be able to. And as expected, Byleth is far more dressed to the nines than she, only wearing a simple white gown and a small cloak that wraps on her shoulders. For a brief moment, Byleth can see her lips twitch.

And she hears Felix chuckle under his breath. She must have noticed the lack of headdress -- but her expression returns to acceptance, only turning her back to Byleth so briefly in the moment that Felix is made to let go of her to come up on the constructed stage that had been crafted just for the occasion. There had not been a passing of this position for so long, it seemed… and had drawn quite the audience. Every pew seat was double filled, with the addition of more that circled around and sat even closer to the center stage than Byleth would have liked. Felix does squeeze her hand on the release of her to her worst nightmare, hoping that the smallest reassurance will help her stay on her own two feet up there.

He’s not allowed to get any closer than ten feet from the first step. Even as a husband, he is still merely an advisor in the eyes of others -- and Rhea, truth be told. Rhea herself had been disgruntled on the arrangement of marriage between the two of them, but had held her tongue considerably well given how unhappy she looked when the subject of Felix came up. And as an offering of his own discontent, Felix stands with a lazy stance, bringing his arms up to his chest to rock on a heel to wait. 

She didn’t imagine standing on her own two feet would be so difficult, and yet, she feels herself shaking. Her knees feel like jelly, and her breathing is uneven, though she is the only one who can hear it. Her clothes are suddenly more constricting than before, and every pore is irritated and hot. When all eyes are on her, feeling every blessing as well as every dagger in her back, she feels as though she could be struck dead right then and there if they willed it enough. Her world had once been so big, and now it’s only the pinhole in her vision that makes her lashes hit her cheeks with a sharp inhale.

Rhea, however, doesn’t seem to notice. For that moment, Byleth feels that she must be dreaming. To be feeling so impossibly weak and dizzy and not have the person right in front of her even act concerned is eerie, and uncomfortable. Almost as if Rhea was willing such a reaction. She couldn’t be, could she?

“Byleth, my most beloved --” Rhea starts, her voice carrying through the cathedral walls for all to hear. Byleth’s eyes do meet the other’s, but the eye contact feels exceptionally nonmutual...why did it feel like her chest was caving in? Why now, was there not enough air in the vast space around her to catch her breath? She doesn’t hear the speech at all before a far too delicate sceptre was placed within her palms. Goddess above -- when did she even put her hands out? It was natural, but from where? And why do her fingers feel like they’re burning when they wrap around it?

“--- and to you, my most trusted, my most enlightened one… I give to you, the title of archbishop. To which, you will guide and lead these people with the unbridled knowledge of the goddess above. One of which, I know you are most familiar with, and a power that you will use well, and often,” and Rhea turns again. And Byleth wants to turn and run.

It was no wonder now why Rhea looked much smaller in the space she occupied. One thing of hers was missing… her own, personal headdress. Not unopposed to the previous one that Byleth had been carrying on her shoulders -- that one was not _official_. It was clear now, that one was to be removed and traded for the highest one in rank. A physical showing of her moving from one ‘rank’ to another… and now there was no barrier to stall the lift of Rhea’s arms over Byleth’s head. 

There is not a feeling in the world to describe how the emptiness in her chest could flood with such immediate panic. The very moment that the heavy gold lays on the crown of her head, she flinches. Inhaling audibly as her breath hitches and her eyes widen. This feeling… this fear, all coming over her in one flood as the dam breaks. The bars of her cage come down -- and she’s realizing now that she is about to drown. There is no escape. The ball and chain comes around her ankles that already stand uneasy in the pinch of heels. Her shoulders bear the weight of the world once more, and she is trapped. She is too weak to run. Though harnessed with all the power in the world, she feels powerless. An inmate in her own prison. Trapped just below a thick ice that doesn’t care to break from her pounding, bloodied knuckles and torn fingernails that go well beyond the desperation of losing her breath.

“People of Fodlan, I give to you, your highest majesty, Her Grace Archbishop Byleth Eisner,” it seemed to be the only part Byleth heard, her brow quirks upward, first in question, and then surprise --- feeling the disturbance of peace behind her. If she dared to look in Felix’s direction… no, she didn’t need to. Byleth could already feel him seething in the background. 

And Rhea looked just as unbothered as she previously had.

“May she live _long_ , and may she live _well_. Blessings be to Her Grace.”

Blessings be to Her Grace.

Blessings be to Her Grace.

  
  


………..

But no blessings would come.

_And I must wonder, will they ever?_

**Author's Note:**

> This au idea was tossed around between a couple of my close friends and myself. Basically wondering, even if Nemesis has no direct relation to Byleth ... what could happen if she gained that will to take down the church after making the mistake of siding with them? What if she got her ten elites back? Wouldn't that be cool? So with this, I'll try not to spoil the rest of the story that I don't even have outlined because I live life dangerously, I want to thank my wonderful wife Maggie and my dearest lady love Sayl for letting me bounce ideas around with them and say thank you for giving me worthwhile feedback and guiding my characterization. They're my inspirations and will always be the driving motivation in this fic.
> 
> Alongside this, be sure to follow my lady Sayl on twitter at @ShadowSayl !! She’ll be illustrating each chapter for this, and she’s a fantastic artist anyway and deserves your follow!!!
> 
> So with that, I hope you've enjoyed the first chapter, and will anticipate more in the future! I promise there is more to come! 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
